


Nightmares

by Phoenix_Ryzing



Series: Original Fiction [3]
Category: Horror - Fandom, Macabre - Fandom
Genre: Blood, Blood Magic, Blood and Gore, Blood and Torture, Blood and Violence, Body Horror, Child Abuse, Child Death, Child Murder, Demons, Gen, Horror, Mass Death, Monsters, Murder, Murderers, Psychological Horror, Self-Harm, Serial Killers, Suicide, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-01
Updated: 2019-07-01
Packaged: 2020-05-31 04:27:08
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19418467
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Phoenix_Ryzing/pseuds/Phoenix_Ryzing
Summary: Horror comes in many forms; ranging from tales that twist the mind to gristle that churns the gut, from monsters beyond imagination to killers from two doors down, from the sheer implausible to what might happen next day--all with the connecting theme: Terror. Terror of the audience, terror of the characters, terror of what might happen next--if it involves fear, it belongs here.Note that my delves into horror involve rather a lot of blood and guts--more Saw than Shirley Jackson.What can I say--I love grimdark.





	1. Hell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> WARNINGS: Self-mutilation, voices, extreme gore, it's freakin' Hell

Darkness.

Cold.

And death.

I floated along in an endless void, unaware of the world around me. If there was a world. Nothing seemed real.

Nothing seemed important.

Nothing… mattered.

Just the darkness, and the cold, and the despair.

Yes…. despair. Fear that the darkness went on forever.

Knowledge that it did.

Endless darkness, endless cold. Endless not-love…. endless hate.

No…. not hate.

Apathy.

Unending apathy for all that existed.

For that that mattered.

The void stretched on, far as the eye could see. Empty, so empty. As though nothing had lived there.

As if nothing would.

But slowly, the stillness changed. It was still dark, still cold. But it was no longer… silent. From nowhere and everywhere, came the words,

“You are nothing”

“You are meaningless”

“You are worthless.

Endless, over and over, the words came, repeated, an endless mantra.

The girl tried not to hear, tried to hold her hands to her head- and discovered, in the process, that she had hands, a head.

But it made no difference. The words repeated, irregardless of what she did.

It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

Slowly, over time, the girl changed tactics. She started to hit her head, first softly, then harder, harder- hard enough to crack it, had she been alive.

But it made no difference at all.

Though the blows sent stars to her eyes, breaking the endless night, and nausea racing to her empty stomach, the pain did nothing to stop the voices.

Then the girl began to tear at her new-found body, sharp nails on skin, scoring over and over again until the flesh was torn away and white bone gleamed in the non-existent light.

But still the voices continued.

The girl was crying, crying and gasping in pain, but still she went on. If the scourging was not enough….

She tore open the thin covering over her stomach, ripped the organ out. She reached in, pulling more and more- intestines, lungs, heart- ripping everything out. They floated along for a moment, before being consumed by the void.

But still the voices continued.

The girl cried out, “Is this not enough? What do you want from me?! What will be enough?!”

In desperation, she ripped out the muscles from her arms and legs, the veins beneath her removed skin. She ripped off her hair, the skin on her head, until nothing remained but a gleaming white skeleton with brain and eyes.

But still the voices continued.

The girl curled up, seeking warmth she knew she would not find from her destroyed body. She cried, tears spilling from her eyes, until she thought… perhaps, they had to go.

She grit her teeth, then ripped the eyeballs from their socket, dooming herself to darkness forever.

Forever.

But still, the voices continued.

The girl curled up, no longer able to even scream, wishing and praying that all would end.

But nobody came.

No one would save her.

The girl cried, breathless sobs and dry sockets, as the voices raged around her.

“Worthless”

“Useless”

“Pathetic”

“Wench”

“Damned”

…damned.

Yes, she was damned, wasn’t she?

And this was Hell.

The girl started to chuckle, to laugh. And though her vocal cords were long since destroyed, the eerie sound echoed in the void. The desperate laughs of one who knew they were lost.

And the void laughed back.

The girl knew now what to do. Still laughing, she grabbed her brain, the squishy organ dissolving in her hands.

With one jerk she pulled it out, before turning still.

She was lost in darkness, now.

Forever.


	2. A Demon for Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Animal Death
> 
> Character: Amaya

"Now, stay in here and think about what you did," a mother said, slowly closing the door to a dark room.

A little boy sat hunched over in the center of the room, not saying anything as the last of the light disappeared. He just curled up on himself and waited.

Mother was mad. Mother had told him to kill bunny, and he had refused. Mother didn't understand. Bunny was friend. Bunny was nice. 

Bunny would haunt him all night.

The boy waited, and waited, and after awhile, he heard scrabbling, the sound of claws on the stone floor. He looked up, and saw two red eyes staring in the gloom. The watched unblinking, then slowly approached.

"Not... real..." the boy whispered, voice cracking from disuse. He knew that. He knew that bunny hadn't come back to haunt him. "Ghost... not real..." he muttered.

The bunny stubbornly ignored his disbelief, and stalked closer.

Amaya curled up defensively and shook, knowing what would happen next, powerless to stop it.

Bunny lunged.

Amaya just ducked his head as he felt something slam into him, a ball of protoplasm that ripped and scratched at his limbs. Amaya felt claws rip his skin to shreds, but didn't cry, didn't scream. What was the point? No one would hear him. No one would come.

He was alone.

But he wasn't alone, but really.

He felt his blood stir. Deep inside him, he felt a acid-fire growing, growing, growing. Suddenly it exploded out of him, and his blood, sharp as a knife, spiked out of his wounds.

The phantom was thrown backwards, impaled on red ice. Amaya just shook and quivered, unable to stop it. His blood had a mind of it's own.

_Kill kill kill kill_ whispered in his mind, and Amaya just hung his head. There was no resisting that voice.

The bunny struggled, wiggled and writhed on the spikes of blood that just kept fracturing, cutting the rabbit into smaller and smaller pieces- until it finally burst into a mass of shadowy gore.

Amaya just breathed a sigh of relief. Bunny was gone, gone for good. It's spirit had been mutilated beyond repair. "I'm... sorry..." he muttered, but instead of sorrow all he felt was resignation. Bunny had attacked. Bunny was defeated. Bunny was gone.

But he was still here.

He shifted to lie on his side, his blood slowly returning to his veins. Returned, for now. Only for now.

He shivered. It was cold. His little body was still too young to regulate his temperature.

After all, he was only five.

And in his veins, his mind, he heard the whispered again _kill kill kill kill...._

He shivered again. And around him, the room was full of whispers....


	3. Angels of Death

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Apocalypse (Man-Made)

…it hadn’t ended like I had expected.

Channeling hatred into something positive was a wonderful goal, but difficult in practice. Different values, cultures, tolerances- one man’s hatred was another man’s love. It’s not like leaders hadn’t attempted this in the past, with disastrous results. 

But some things were universal, truly universal. One stood out to you: death.

Everyone feared death. Everyone _hated_ death. But that wasn’t enough. It needed a form. Something everyone could pin their hatred on. Who knows? With luck, maybe they’d get around to fixing the problems in the world, as a way of warding “Death” away.

I decided to build a machine, the most adaptable one ever made. It must never be destroyed, so it had to survive water, electricity, falls, and the extremities in general. It’s commands would be simple: prowl around, and, rarely, kill. It must live up to it’s name. Else, no one would believe it to be Death incarnate.

Perhaps _actually_ killing people was the mistake. After all, so many die anyways. Seeking out those killed, creating a corollary connection that way, would have been the better solution.

…or perhaps just building _one._

The Angels of Death worked as intended. They united humanity against them, the one thing that all feared and loathed. All nations came together as one, working towards a common cause:

Stopping them from destroying all life on Earth.

For the Angels did not just target _human_ life. No, that was a grave oversight on my part. _All_ life was their target.

All animals

All trees

All living creatures beneath the Sun.

They started with the bees, accurately predicating the devastation that would cause. Then they started targeting forests, setting blazes in such patterns and with such timing that humans were unable to contain the blazes. They sabotaged many ships and ocean-side buildings, flooding the ocean with dangerous substances and devastating life there. And from the rubble, they collect parts, and build more of themselves. I had designed them to self-repair… I had not thought they would recreate.

They left humanity alone, except when they got in the way. They understood their prime directive far, far too well: 

_Unite_ humanity through fear of death. To be united… humanity must survive long enough _to_ unite. But fear, yes. The greatest fear: that of utter annihilation. Thus they seek to destroy all life on Earth.

…I did succeed in one respect: all of humanity now hates one thing: me. They intent to offer me to the machines, to see if they accept this universal loathing as the completion of their programming.

They forget, though, one thing: I never specified _how long_ humanity had to be united. To humans, one minute might be enough. But to a machine?

Only eternal unity through death would complete their cause.


	4. Strange Sight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Serial-Killer

"Mom? Dad?! Help! I can't see! I can't see!!!" a girl shouts, whipping her heads wildly about even though only blackness met her gaze.

She blinked, rubbed her eyes, tried to look again- nothing. Absolutely nothing. 

She cried again and again, sitting in bed and clutching her blanket, but no one came. 

Then, she heard footsteps- racing footsteps. But the sounds wasn't right-

Suddenly, a dog burst into her room, and she realized with a start she could _see_ him. Or rather, she could see an orange light in shape of her golden retriever, Max.

"Max! Here boy!" she called, and the shape jumped, and the girl felt her dog land on her chest and start licking her. "Down, down boy!" she said, laughing all the while.

She petted her doggo and thought. So she could see living things? But then-

She looked down at herself and saw... blackness. Nothing. She squinted, hard, and slowly started to see a blue so dark it looked like black. She really only could notice it when putting her hand in front of her dog, where the bright orange brought out the opposite color.

Well. She could see _something_ at least. But why? Why- she supposed it was life-energy? Or souls? Then she vaguely remembered reading something about auras. Was that it?

And where were her parents?

"Hey boy, Max, where are Mom and Dad? Show me," she said, and Max obediently leaped off the bed and ran out of the room. 

"Hey, slow down!" the girl said, kicking off the sheets and unsteadily stepping on the invisible floor. She walked by memory to her door- nearly bumping into the frame in doing so- and out into the hallway.

Max was waiting for her, and when he saw her emerge he barked and ran off down the hall and into her parent's bedroom. 

The girl blinked needlessly, and slowly followed, tracing the wall with her hand. And while she walked she couldn't help but think- why hadn't her parent's come if they were in there? It didn't make sense...

She found her parent's door already opened, and stepped inside. "H-hello?" she called tentatively.

"Ah, hello Clara," her father's voice said, and the girl jumped. "W-where are you?!" she cried, trying desperately to look around. She could _hear_ that her father was in front of her, but she couldn't-

"You can't see me," he said matter-of-factly. "Now, come here," he said, and Clara tentatively stepped forward until she bumped into the edge of the bed. "Sit down. I need to explain a few things."

"Why can't I see you," Clara said immediately. "I can see Max, I can see myself, so why-"

"I'll get to that," her father said, irritated. "Just listen."

He took a deep, deep breathe and said, "You've often asked where I came from. Your mother did the same. Always, always asking. I never told her, or you. I couldn't. Who would accept someone who came from Hell?"

"Like, the village in Norway?" Clara asked faintly.

"I told you to be quiet," her father said, his voice taking on a dangerous tone. Clara gulped.

"And no, not Norway. The plane of existence. You know, the fire and brimstone place."

Clara opened her mouth to say something then shut it. Her dad could be a violent man. 

"And no, I'm not a demon," he said, as though he'd read Clara's mind. "Just a poor soul sent there for crimes against humanity. But I was given a second chance."

He paused for a moment, then continued, "I had a family. They prayed and prayed and prayed for me to come back. God granted their prayer, I guess. All knew, I was outta there."

"Your first family," Clara stated.

"STOP TALKING!" her father roared, and Clara shrunk back- then cried out at the slap that nearly knocked her over.

"Anyways," he said a bit later, voice still gruff. "Back to the story. Yes, they were my first family. My wife Emma and son Luke. They were _so happy_ when I came back- an answer to their prayers."

"Then they found the bodies."

Clara sat still, ice running down her spine. _B-bodies...?_

"Bodies," her father confirmed, "from my previous victims. All those little corpses. Why do you _think_ I was in Hell?

"Well, they immediately regretted bringing me back, that's for sure. So I had to get rid of them."

Clara blinked, confused. That wasn't-

"No, they didn't die in a car crash. I mean, they did, but only because I drove us into a semi. Oh, I supposed I could have died again, but so what? Rather Hell than prison. It's really better than you'd think..." he said, his voice taking a wistful note. Clara just pulled a face.

"Anyways," he said, snapping himself out of it. "I survived. Injured, but alive. Then I met your mom in the hospital- you know, what with her nursing her back to health. She never knew."

He waited as though expecting Clara to say something, but she stayed quite. After a few moments, he said, "I thought I'd take that second chance. Be an average Joe. Maybe, i dunno, try to keep from going back to Hell- it's not _that_ nice. So I started my charity work and church attendance blah blah blah."

"Then I had you, and I knew I was in trouble. It was your eyes- silver-grey. Oh they faded to normal grey, but I saw the light shining in them, and knew you had that sight, that devil-sight."

"Devil-sight?" Clara said faintly, not thinking, but her father didn't hear.

"I paid dearly for that sight, the ability to see people's souls, their auras, their _essence._ It's a useful ability. I lost it when I was brought back, and I thought it was gone- but you. You had it. And I knew, someday, it would activate.

"That's why I had to blind you."

Clara blinked, and unconsciously raised a hand to her eyes... and felt her eyes, completely normal and untouched.

Her father laughed, and she heard him get up and walk over to the side wall, where the dresser was. "Oh no, I didn't do anything that'll leave a trace. I made some friends in Hell- they just wanted a little blood for your vision. I thought it'd take your devil-sight too," he said, voice suddenly sharp and hard. "Guess I'll need to give Fijokasodofihe a good whooping once I get back," he said nonchalantly, and Clara shivered. 

"Where's Mom," she asked, but she already knew.

"In the backyard. You'll join her in a minute," he said, and Clara froze.

Then her father took a step and she jumped up and _ran_ \- straight into the wall. She hit it so hard she felt her head spin and everything got even darker, somehow. 

The last thing she heard was, "Hey, when you see God, thank Him for me will ya? I just love His gift of life."

And everything went dark...


	5. One More Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by the Vocaloid song "Rolling Girl."
> 
> Warnings: Self-Harm, Suicide.  
> DO NOT READ IF IT WILL ENCOURAGE THESE BEHAVIORS. Please. Please.

One more time, one more time, I have to run, one more time;

I cannot stop, to catch my breathe; I cannot stop, to check my wounds;

One more time, one more time, I cannot run, one more time

The pain is deep the knife cuts deep I cannot carry on!

But you turn and look at me,

But you turn and give a smile,

As you say

"Just for a little while."

One more time, one more time, I run again, one more time;

I cannot stop, to catch my breath, I cannot stop, to check my wounds;

One more time, one more time, I cannot run, one more time;

The path is steep the knife cuts deep I cannot carry on!

But you stand and look at me,

But you say "Follow me,"

Fall away, from the knife,

Fall away, from the pain.

One more time, one more time, I run the path, one more time;

My life the knife the road I know, leading on to love unknown;

One more time, one more time, I run the knife, one more time;

This life to keep this blood to seep I have to carry on!

But you call from worlds unknown,

But you call for me to fall,

Hell itself knows no pain

Of that I run day to day.

One more time, one more time, can I run, one more time?

I cannot stop, to catch my breathe, I cannot stop, to check my wounds,

One more time--no more time, I cannot run, not this time,

The pain's too deep the path's too steep I cannot carry on!

So I turn and look at thee,

My mother and my enemy,

I take the plunge, take the fall,

Hell itself it seems to call.

No more time, I'm out of time, I could not run, not this time;

My life a knife on which I ran, my life that never let me stand;

Just run and run and cry your blood, Hell itself to be your love,

I lost the fight I lost it all--From Hell's depth I heard you call.

"Come fall away, come follow me,

"In Hell itself you will see,

"The pain and misery you caused me,

"So come away, come away,

"Come

"Away."

* * *

[An alternate end.]

But as I fell on and on,

I thought I heard a trace of a song:

"Come follow me, come fly away--

"Come dear heart, come stay a day."

A hand reached down and caught me fast--

I do not know how long it'll last--

But now I dangle in the void,

And I don't know whether to cry--

Or be overjoyed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you ever feel like this, please, PLEASE reach out:
> 
> https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/talk-to-someone-now/
> 
> This piece is meant as catharsis, not encouragement; as a horror story, not a guide. The author is safe. Please keep yourself safe as well.


End file.
